Page 165 of Wallflower

Her annoyed mumbling increases in volume as I wait, tucked into the shadows of the large mudroom, concealed by Kyle’s mass amount of riding gear.

The Phantom’s door closes, and I listen as her heels clack against the concrete. The house door swings open, slamming into the wall as she cusses me out.

Her filthy fucking mouth is about to be stuffed so full of my dick, she won’t be able to talk right for a week.

“Where are you, asshat?” she calls out. “Think it’s funny to get me going then fuck off?”

The pressure beneath my ribs starts to hurt from holding in the laugh that wants to belt out of me.

“Make me, he says.” Rose mutters to herself as her fingers find the zipper at the side of her proper-looking, black, knee-length dress. “Oh, I’ll fucking make him all right. Just let me find a gag.” The zipper descends, and she pulls the garment over her head, dropping it to the floor as her ebony curls cascade down around her.

“Ripley,” she sing-songs. The sound winds around my willing body, almost coaxing me from the hiding spot. Her alluring form in those black lacy things sends my mind spiralling as I debate dropping to my knees and crawling for forgiveness.

She moves slowly down the hall looking for me, heels softly click-clacking against hardwood as I slip my dress shoes off. Quietly, I strip off my black button up and dress pants. In just my boxers and Stegosaurus socks, I follow her at a safe distance.

She dips into our bedroom, and I press my back up against the wall outside the door. Listening closely, I know she walks through the space to the ensuite, probably wondering where the hell I disappeared to in a matter of seconds.

Emerging from the bathroom, she mutters a string of things I can’t make out. Rose’s steps get louder as she unknowingly makes her way back to me, ratcheting up the throbbing in my cock and the blood thundering through my veins. As she approaches the door, I step out, blocking her path. A dick-tingling shriek escapes her lips, and I scoop her up over my shoulder.

Leisurely, I stroll back into our room, moving to my side of the bed as her fists lay into my back. “Put me down, you behemoth!”

“Never.”

Bending down, I hover the threat of dropping her, and she clings to me. A smile pulls at my mouth as I slide the drawer of my side table open. The cuffs are missing from their usual spot, and I bet the woman suctioned onto me like an octopus has something to do with it.

My eyes travel across the mattress to her nightstand, unease awakening from somewhere deep within me. A feeling I’m unaccustomed to feeling while in her presence.

“Rose?”

“What?” she snaps, arm reaching up to try and leverage her body against mine.

“Where are your flowers?” Immediately, she stills. My concern secures its roots, growing at a violent pace, as my amygdala works overtime.

“What flowers?”

“The dried-up purple ones.”

“Oh, those? I threw them out the other day. They were pretty much dust.” She chuffs a half-hearted laugh and it prickles along the nape of my neck.

I try to remember when I last saw them, but pinpointing a date is next to impossible. I’ve been in such an exhausted haze this past week from helping Bucky and his family with the Celebration of Life, and the investigation my friend’s demanding that no one knows about except Kyle and I.

The flowers were on her side table when we returned from Maple Jacks. I remember thinking I should toss them while she was in the shower for over an hour. She probably would’ve been pissed at me for it, but we were heading to Bleakcrest, if she wanted to get new, fresh ones, she could have. However, shedidn’t look at them upon our arrival, didn’t spare them a single glance.

After that, I don’t know when they vanished from their designated spot.

Why wouldn’t she pick new ones to replace the others?

“Hellooooo?” Her voice calls me back. “Why do you care about the flowers? You were the one trying to throw them out not that long ago.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t let me.”

“So? I wasn’t ready then.”

“Ready for what?”

“Put me down,” she sternly demands.

“Uhh, I don’t fucking think so.”